


When The Time Is Right

by walltea



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Awkward Flirting, Crack Treated Seriously, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunken Shenanigans, Elias Bouchard (briefly) - Freeform, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, set in early season 1, the obligatory holiday party fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28962063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walltea/pseuds/walltea
Summary: "Martin didn’t like holiday parties. That was a given in pretty much any circumstance, but the Archive holiday party was shaping up to be a terrible one for a number of reasons. He wasn’t friends with any of his coworkers, he was only here under false pretenses, spooky things kept happening - oh, and he was harbouring an embarrassing and intense crush on hisboss."Season 1 AU where Martin finds the silver lining of terrible office parties in the form of one drunk Archivist.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 115





	When The Time Is Right

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, it's been a while since I last posted on AO3. I originally wrote this as part of a fic exchange with my friend Grassy. If they're reading this - hi!! Thanks for the inspiration! Now I'm (almost) officially caught up on the podcast, I thought I'd finally upload it. Hope you enjoy!

Martin didn’t like holiday parties. That was a given in pretty much any circumstance, but the Archive holiday party was shaping up to be a terrible one for a number of reasons. He wasn’t friends with any of his coworkers, he was only here under false pretenses, spooky things kept happening - oh, and he was harbouring an embarrassing and intense crush on his _boss._

The Archive didn’t seem like the kind of place to have holiday parties anyway. Apparently Elias had mentioned something about _“the importance of having reliable allies”_ or some other suitably ominous rumination which Tim had taken to mean _“throw a ridiculous party”_. Great. Martin wasn’t the type of person to hold a grudge, but if Tim’s tea was always just a bit too weak for the next couple of weeks, well. He should volunteer to make a cup some time.

The party was kicking into gear when Martin arrived - suitably generic Christmas music playing from somewhere, paper plates of awful party food and glasses of cheap wine and cocktails. For a prestigious institute, they definitely could have gone a little more… sophisticated. That’s what they got for letting Tim organise, Martin thought bitterly. He felt a bit guilty for his vitriol, but given the oppressive atmosphere was already giving him a splitting headache he felt like he deserved a bit of irritation.

After grabbing a couple of limp sandwiches and a few of the vegetarian cocktail sausages that didn’t remind him of the more uncomfortable meat related statements, Martin looked for somewhere to hide. Well, it wasn’t hiding - he just happened to find himself in a quiet corner of the space, rubbing elbows with a houseplant and trying his best to blend in.

It didn’t work, of course. When did anything ever go to plan in the life of Martin Blackwood? He winced as he heard someone call his name.

“Martin! There you are,” she said. Unlike Martin, she seemed to fit right in, picture perfect down to the Santa hat on her long, shiny hair.

“Oh - uh, hi, Sasha! I like your dress,” he said, silently wishing he was anywhere else in that moment.

“Thank you-”

“Flirting with my girlfriend, Blackwood?” And there was the man himself - Tim Stoker, somehow managing to make a Hawaiian shirt work at a Christmas party.

Martin choked slightly, feeling his face turn hot as he scrambled to answer. “What? No! I wouldn’t - I was just saying - I’m gay, Tim!”

“Oh, leave him alone, Stoker.” Tim sighed in mock heartbreak as Sasha continued. “How are you finding the party?”

“You know me, not really a party kind of person…” Martin trailed off awkwardly. “It’s good though! Got any… uh, plans for Christmas?”

She smiled, and Martin thanked his lucky stars his coworkers put up with his awkwardness. “Yeah, I’m visiting my family on Christmas, then coming back down to see this idiot-” she wrapped her arm around Tim’s lanky frame “-for a couple of days. How about you?”

He laughed uncomfortably, knowing full well what his Christmas looked like. He’d visit his mother in the morning, who would stare out of the window and barely acknowledge him until he left. Then he’d go home and watch old movies all day, determinedly not thinking about how truly alone he was. “Oh, you know, nothing special…”

Sasha seemed to realise he was deflecting and quickly changed the subject. “Hey, have you seen Jon? He was looking for you earlier.”

Shit. Martin felt his face turn scarlet again and determinedly ignored Tim’s quiet snickering. “Uh, no, no I haven’t seen him. What did he want? Did he say?”

“He wanted to confess under the mistletoe of course- ow!” Tim’s teasing was cut off as Sasha stamped on his foot. “Sa _sha_ ,” he whined.

“Tim,” she mimicked. “Come on, we should go and check on the music.”

“Yeah, alright,” he relented. “See you later, Martin. Enjoy the party!”

Martin sighed, and stared into his sandwiches. “Not likely,” he muttered.

He didn’t know how long he stood there. The clock seemed to slow down to the point of stopping entirely as he debated how early he could leave without seeming rude. Just as he finally decided he could probably sneak out of a back door, someone crashed straight into him, sending his poor wilted sandwiches flying.

“Ow- Jon?”

“Martin. I - sorry about that, let me get those for you.”

“No, really, it’s fine.” But Jon was already leaning down to grab the sandwiches and Martin was not drunk enough for this. He returned the sandwiches with an almost proud smile, and then he actually leaned into Martin’s side. Jon, who had flinched when Martin’s hand brushed his on a cup of tea, practically cuddled up to him in front of the whole damn Archive. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, Martin, I’m perfectly fine. Feeling rather festive, actually." Okay, something was definitely wrong. Not only was Jon snuggled into Martin's ugly Christmas jumper, he was actually _smiling._

“Let me rephrase that - are you drunk?”

“I am not drunk, I’ve only had two, maybe three, glasses of wine, hardly enough to cause any… significant inebriation.”

“Jon, you can hardly stand up straight," Martin sighed. That was definitely the only explanation for this, he told himself sternly. "Have you had anything to eat?”

Jon made a face. “No, it’s all disgusting.”

“Yeah, fair enough.” Martin floundered for something to say for a second. His brain had packed in moments ago when his really hot boss crashed into him, handed him some floor sandwiches and was now leaning into his side with a dopey smile. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

Jon pulled away from him briefly, and Martin immediately regretted it. Taking his hand and looking him directly in the eye, Jon frowned. “I’m sorry, Martin, but I’m not interested in that way. Especially not at work-”

Shit. Martin wanted to sink into the floor, anything to escape the burning embarrassment that seemed to be the defining emotion of this god awful night. “Oh God I’m so sorry that is not what I meant! I just thought you’d want to clear your head - or something?”

“Oh, I see.” Jon furrowed his brow as if he was trying to decipher a particularly hard crossword puzzle - and not at all like he had just caused Martin to spontaneously combust in the middle of the office party. “Yes, I think that would be nice.”

Desperately hoping to avoid anyone’s notice, Martin carefully steered Jon around the outskirts of the crowd. That was one perk of hating parties - he knew how to get out of them, fast. So it didn’t take long to get an unusually agreeable Jon out of the door and into a silent break room, where he collapsed on the battered sofa with a groan.

The silence that hung over the pair of them was uncomfortable to say the least. Despite the fact it was well into the night, Martin found himself making a cup of tea. The process was strangely therapeutic, and he let himself get lost in the familiar motions - if only to avoid confronting the reality of his very drunk, very attractive boss sprawled out on the sofa. He was finished all too quickly, and gently called Jon’s name as he brought over the tea.

“Thank you, Martin,” he said. That in itself was uncharacteristic - Jon definitely wasn’t ungrateful, but anything resembling affection was as rare as hen’s teeth with him. Or maybe Martin was just projecting his ridiculous crush. With that in mind, he hovered by the counter as he waited for his tea to cool. “Tea used to be a medicinal drink in ancient China, you know.”

“I didn’t,” Martin said, secretly relieved to be on somewhat normal footing. “You might need it for your hangover in the morning.”

Jon groaned - then frowned. “Come and sit down.” When Martin stood there, gaping for a moment, he sighed. “You must be tired. Come on.” Moving on instinct, Martin carefully perched on the opposite end of the sofa. Undeterred, Jon shuffled over and leaned into Martin, bony elbows and shoulders digging in.

Martin tried his best to hold in a tiny, undignified squeak. He thought he’d done his best to hide it, but Jon looked at him again with that same painfully earnest, serious expression. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“N-no, it’s okay!” His voice climbed an octave as he stumbled his way through his words. “I just - I know you don’t want anything and I just didn’t want to overstep any boundaries or anything…”

“Oh.” That was all Jon said, before snuggling straight back into Martin’s arm, head resting on his shoulder.

“Jon?” Martin squeaked. 

He didn’t reply for a moment, leaning heavily into his side, but when he didn’t stop tensing up Jon spoke. “You’re not overstepping boundaries. I don’t think I’m overstepping yours, but please do correct me if I’m wrong.”

“I-I- you’re not, but - what makes you say that?”

“Oh. I thought it was obvious.” If it were anyone else, Martin would think they were joking. But Jon Sims, master of the flat look and deadpan voice, did not joke, and he was employing both very effectively even in his drunk state.

“What’s obvious?!” Martin knew exactly what it was, even if he’d rather get eaten alive by the worms from the Prentiss statement than admit it.

“Well - you. You blush every time I talk to you. You don’t really do that with the others.” Martin cursed Jon and his unfailing powers of observation, which were still effective when rather wine-drunk, apparently.

Surprisingly, more than anything, Martin felt ashamed. “Oh, Jon - I’m so sorry, I know that’s not okay and you’re not interested and you’re drunk so we shouldn’t really talk about this now and I-”

Jon smiled tiredly, and Martin was struck by his beauty. “Martin, it’s alright. I never said I wasn’t.”

“You did! Earlier! At the party!” Martin didn’t mean to get defensive, but he was feeling very raw.

“I meant I wasn’t interested in the physical sense, Martin. Romantically, I… could be.”

“Huh,” Martin said, as if the world hadn’t just stopped spinning entirely. He could be. Those words would repeat in his head forever, he thought distantly. He might like me back.

“Alcohol produces a similar effect to oxytocin, you know.”

Martin blinked, startled slightly by the non sequitur. “What’s that?”

“It’s commonly known as the love hormone. It activates feelings of trust, attraction, that sort of thing,” Jon stated simply. God, Martin loved how smart Jon was, how he always seemed to know things and liked to share them. For want of a better word, it was cute. 

“Huh.” For a brief moment, Martin allowed himself to enjoy the moment, before the overthinking started to kick in. “So, are you saying that-”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Good,” Martin said, and they lapsed into comfortable silence.

Slowly, they shifted on the sofa. It wasn’t not comfortable in the slightest, the combination of the ridiculously small sofa and Jon’s insistent, poking elbows left Martin in a more than a little awkward position. Still, he couldn’t say he minded much when Jon’s head found its way to his chest with a contented murmur. They stayed like that for a while, Martin’s hand stroking Jon’s hair as he listened to his soft snoring. He was adorable like that - the lines of stress that so often clouded his face during the day melted away to reveal a man who looked so much younger. Not for the first time, Martin wondered if they’d all be better off somewhere far, far away from the Archive.

Still, he knew Jon wouldn’t leave. And by that point, he knew he wouldn’t leave Jon. Was it healthy to get so attached to your boss of barely six months? Almost definitely not. But things were very different in the Archive, and Martin just wanted to protect the exhausted and worried man who he’d come to… admire. Yes, that was a good word. Others would have to come later. For the meantime, Martin knew he was fond of Jon. He admired him and cared about him and wanted to keep him safe.

These thoughts and Jon’s words carried Martin gently towards sleep, and he was just drifting off when the break room door flew open with a bang. Jon startled awake and they both sat up, eyes darting to the door to identify the intruder. Or… intruders.

Standing there, with his normally pristine suit a rumpled mess, hair sticking in all directions and accompanied by a tall man with a white beard, was Elias Bouchard. To his credit, he regained his composure fairly quickly - although it was hard to feel intimidated when there was clearly a hickey peeking from under his open shirt collar. 

“Good evening, Jon. Martin,” he said coolly. “If you’ll excuse us.” Elias and the tall man turned to leave, and as he closed the door he gave them one last assessing glance. “Let’s… not mention this.”

The door closed with a click. Martin let out a shocked laugh and collapsed back onto the sofa. “Are we getting fired?”

Jon smiled tiredly. "We can deal with that in the morning." And like nothing had happened, he rested his head back on Martin's chest and began to doze off. 

"Yeah," Martin whispered. "We can."

\---

_“Sasha! You owe me £20!”_

**Author's Note:**

> And then everything was wonderful and they lived happily ever after.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to leave a comment - feedback, constructive criticism, general TMA rants, all are welcome! I need something to cheer me up for when the finale hits. Until then, see you next time!


End file.
